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The 13th Clown

Date: January 20, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Funny how a 7-day cruise flies by when you have to sing a solo in front of hundreds of people on the last night! At least, that’s how it was for me. Thank goodness for dress rehearsals!

Just kidding. I mean, it was nice to know where to stand on the stage (the big “X”). But I confess, it made me nervous when the handsome young cast member/dancer from Australia told me not to move too much as I sang…because my male backup dancers would be dancing all around me. Wearing short-shorts and tight tiny t-shirts. And their moves had to be something to behold (I couldn’t see them, as they were dancing behind me) because my husband commented several times about them.

Oh, good. Then the dance moves would match the lyrics.

The song? “Like A Virgin.”

When I heard what I had to sing, I wanted to die. ”I can’t sing this!” I told my husband.

“Sure you can, you’ve heard it before. You’re an 80s girl. You listened to Madonna, you know this song!” he remarked.

“Well apparently, I never listened to the words—or I didn’t understand them if I did,” I said. “I’m older now, I’m a newlywed, and I can’t believe them! I should be mortified!” I exclaimed. (Thank goodness for Ponzi schemes, crime, public divorce and familial downfall to take away any sense of mortification or humiliation. I told you, I can’t be humiliated anymore!)

But it was too late to do anything about it. My husband told me the show was counting on me. It was too late to get anyone else to do it. So like the unexpected life, sometimes you’ve just got to push through it. My sister-in-law helped me do 1980s makeup (and blue eye shadow), I cringed as I put on every article of the provided costume—black boots, black bustier, pink netting skirt—and comforted myself that at least I wouldn’t know anyone in the audience.

Turns out, I was wrong about that too.

“If there are 12 clowns in a ring, you can jump in the middle and start reciting Shakespeare, but to the audience, you’ll just be the 13th clown.” (Adam Walinsky)

Therapy Is Kinda Like…

Date: September 24, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder how I do these things. I can embarrass myself so badly that I literally get a hot prickle down the back of my neck.” (Daisy Donovan)

That used to be me thanks to some unforgettable experiences, like once having my skirt fall off me as I stood talking to a man, and a few other embarrassing moments which should probably be blog posts in and of themselves someday. But my unexpected life, and the criminal behavior of my former spouse related to his Ponzi scheme, the public downfall of my family and my divorce, all took care of redefining what humiliation and embarrassment mean to me these days. I don’t sweat the small stuff, like “embarrassing moments” anymore.

However, that evening, sitting in the counseling office, realizing I had dated the therapist’s brothers and NOT married them and was now seeking counsel to avoid a second divorce if Bachelor #5 and I tied the knot, I fought a slight feeling of mortification. “PLEASE don’t tell your brothers I’m divorced and seeking remarriage counseling from you,” I begged. He assured me he wouldn’t say a word.

However, because he wasn’t really a stranger anymore, for some reason I felt a little more comfortable with him and opened up more. After the session ended Bachelor #5 commented on how interesting it was that I was so close-mouthed toward a stranger, yet when I made a connection with him, I was a lot more willing to talk. (Just one more thing to love about Bachelor #5. He “gets” me. I’ve had more epiphanies about myself, things I do and why I do them, since knowing him, than I feel like I had the entire rest of my previous life. He’s observant, smart, and puts 2 and 2 together to equal four– when I don’t even realize there’s an equation to be solved.)

As we left the appointment, I couldn’t believe what a small world the realm of counseling made it. I was filled with disbelief about my connection to the counselor, too. Bachelor #5 simply replied, “Well, what do you expect when you’ve dated, or attempted to date, the entire world?” And he laughed.

“Being in therapy is great. I spend an hour just talking about myself. It’s kinda like being the guy on a date.” (Caroline Rhea)

What Do You Do When The Feds Come?

Date: April 13, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Last April, one year ago, government authorities came to my home, as a result of my spouse’s crimes and ponzi scheme, and seized many of our possessions.  (To those not experienced with these kinds of things, lol, I’m talking about when they officially show up and haul everything away!)

What do you do when The Feds come?

I don’t know what other people do, but I spent the morning putting away clutter that had accumulated during our three weeks of trauma thus far so The Feds wouldn’t think we housed a criminal AND were trashy, dirty, messy people!

The U.S. Marshalls arrived in the afternoon and began packing things up and hauling them away.  My spouse wanted me to be gone, but I stood my ground and stayed.  I had done nothing wrong.  And besides, where was I going to go?

I can tell you what my neighbors did.  They all took the day off work to watch our demise.  They stood on the deck of our next door neighbor’s home, with drinks in their hands, watching our downfall while their children and grandchildren ran and played around them.  They talked, gestured, pointed, and appeared to glory in all that was our lot.

Meanwhile, reporters and camera men came and filmed the proceedings and a few of our neighbors followed them around, walked with them, and made sure they filmed all angles of our home and property.  Some of our neighbors stood, with their own cameras, and filmed my children and I coming and going as well.  Several reporters rang our doorbell; one even asked my spouse for a comment.  He declined to comment but said that He had four children and would appreciate it if the children could be left alone.  The reporter said, “I understand,” and walked away.

Despite the fact I’d worked as a journalist, I doubted my peers.  I didn’t think they could possibly understand.  But I guess they did, after all.  I never saw one report that included any photographs of my children or myself.

Later, the neighbors moved their gathering to the cul-de-sac in front of my house.  As I arrived home after running an errand and attempted to drive to my driveway, those same neighbors stood in their group, talking amongst themselves, blocking the road, unmoving, and glaring at me.

What do you do?  I laughed. (Inside.)

I laughed and joked with myself at what I like to refer to as their trust of me, my character, and my emotional stability in the face of my trauma.  Clearly they had NO CLUE how fragile I felt on the inside or they never would have stood, blocking my way, as I sat in the driver’s seat of an SUV, engine running, my foot inches away from the accelerator!

It entertained me the whole time I waited for them to finally move, and as I drove down the driveway and into my garage.

What else did we do when The Feds came?

We had my son’s birthday cake that night. (Note:  The government was sensitive to our family situation.  They intentionally scheduled the seizure of our assets for the day after my son’s birthday so that he wouldn’t have the seizure as his 16th birthday memory. However, my son got so many treats from friends who went out of their way to be kind to him on his birthday that he didn’t want his birthday cake that day. So we had it the next day–and that’s how we ended up having birthday cake the first day of the seizure.) The day The Feds came.

A friend drove my 3rd grader home from lacrosse practice that day but my son was afraid to get out of the car due to the circus of media, neighbors, and U.S. Marshalls everywhere.  I went out and brought him in to be with us.  There was a feeling in the air that even a little boy could sense and it must have engendered some defensive instinct in him because he turned to me as we walked into the house and said, “Mom, do you know what I want to say to all those people?”

I asked, “What?”

And he lifted his pinky in the air to let me know he wanted to give them a finger…or THE finger.  (I didn’t even know he knew about that yet!)

What do you do when The Feds come?

I laughed, I put my arm around him, and I encouraged him to rise above all of the filth of venomous hatred and choose the right (although a part of me certainly could relate to his desire!)

That’s what WE did when The Feds came.